


hands and the various uses thereof

by eva_cybele



Series: learning how to live after the world ends [3]
Category: Persona 3
Genre: Awkwardness, F/M, Post-Game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-26
Updated: 2014-02-26
Packaged: 2018-01-13 21:33:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1241497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eva_cybele/pseuds/eva_cybele
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes it's the little things. </p><p>A birthday present for tumblr user cylleona.</p>
            </blockquote>





	hands and the various uses thereof

Mitsuru was at her desk, typing up a briefing for the next day’s meeting, and Akihiko could not take his eyes off her hands. He was across the room, attempting to review some reports sent in by some of the junior operatives, but they were boring and she was fascinating. 

It had been like this, ever since they had, well… yeah. The back of his neck turned red just thinking about it. He didn’t really know what to label it. Calling Mitsuru Kirijo his girlfriend seemed entirely too juvenile, and not at all sufficient for the depths of his feelings for her, whether they were platonic or romantic or...whatever. She was his friend and partner, as she had been for years, they just sometimes had sex now. Or something. It was confusing.

Ever since their relationship had “become intimate” (and that phrase didn’t fit either, because what they’d had before had been intimacy, too, but regardless) he had been getting distracted by little things. Before, she’d just been Mitsuru, the sum total of herself, well-known but also sort of distant and enigmatic, like all girls. He had thought about her as a person often, but never as a woman to whom he was attracted. Now, though, it was sometimes all he could think about. He had lived with her for three years, had missed her desperately for two more, and was just now noticing all the ways that she was beautiful. Making up for lost time, he supposed. 

The other day it had been her hair, the way that it curled everywhere and couldn’t be tamed, how even on the rare occasions that she pulled it back and away from her face, tendrils always escaped, vivid against her skin. Before that had been her voice, its warmth and depth, the way she could say his name a hundred different ways and have it mean a thousand different things. 

Today was her hands. They were deceptively delicate-looking, just like her. The long, tapered fingers and ever-present acrylic nails had made him think she was soft, once upon a time. That illusion had lasted until he had shaken her hand, felt the strength of her grip and the roughness of the sword calluses that covered her right palm. He had seen those hands wield a blade, fire an evoker, staunch wounds, heal and destroy and curl into his flesh, nails digging in as every muscle in her body went tight and still --

“Akihiko?”

The sound of his name jerked him hard out of his reverie, and back into a reality where Mitsuru sat looking at him, one eyebrow raised and a small smile pulling at one corner of her lips. “Are you alright?”

He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out, so he coughed and tried again. “Uh. Yeah.” 

The smile grew a little bit larger. “I asked if you had found anything of interest in the reports.”

The reports. Right. That thing he was supposed to have been doing, rather than contemplating the varied and interesting things Mitsuru was capable of doing with her hands. “Not yet. Just standard status updates.”

She uncrossed her legs and stood in one fluid motion, crossing the room to stand in front of him, fingertips resting lightly on the stack of unread papers. “You seem a bit distracted.”

Akihiko brought a hand to the back of his neck, rubbing it in embarrassment. It was getting steadily more difficult to meet her eyes. She always had been able to read him like an open book. “Sorry.”

Exasperated laughter filled the room as Mitsuru settled her knees onto either side of his thighs, straddling his lap. The blush that he’d been fighting instantly shot through his entire body, filling it with heat. “So. What was it that had your mind wandering, hmm?”

The woman was teasing him. Her smile and tone told him that she knew he’d been thinking about her, but she was asking anyway. Because she was evil. That was clearly the only option.

“Uh. I -- well --” His tongue managed to tie itself in a knot somehow, while about a thousand lines that he’d heard in movies or books or from Junpei all bounced around in his head, vying for his attention. Nothing fit, everything that popped into his head sounded cheesy or weird or just plain wrong. Or like Junpei, which was probably worse.

A cool, smooth palm slid up to cup his cheek, and Mitsuru caught his gaze with her own. “Akihiko…” All the teasing had slipped from her voice, replaced with patience and compassion. A part of him regretted it -- Mitsuru reserved that playfullness for her inner circle, and it spoke loudly to her trust in him that he saw it so often -- but the calm in her demeanor steadied him, pulled him out of his head and into the moment. 

Akihiko raised his own hand and covered hers where it rested on his cheek. “I was thinking about your hands.” 

That caught her off-guard, and she blinked twice in quick succession. “My hands? That’s one I haven’t heard before.” She raised her free hand and examined it like she was looking at it for the first time.

He shrugged, still a little embarrassed, but determined not to let it get the best of him. “I like them. They’re like you.”

Her smile turned faintly self-deprecating. “Cold?”

Now it was his turn to be taken by surprise. How anyone could apply the word cold to Mitsuru Kirijo beyond her admittedly low body temperature was beyond him. She was one of the warmest people he’d ever met. “Elegant. Strong. Capable.” He pulled her hand to his lips and kissed the palm, not breaking eye contact. 

Mitsuru’s eyes fluttered shut at the sensation and then opened again, old pain banished and replaced with an intensity that flooded his entire body with desire. She slid both arms around his neck and kissed him, pressing herself against his chest. 

Almost of their own accord, Akihiko’s hands slid up her stocking-covered thighs, under her skirt, and wrapped themselves around her hips, pulling her close enough so that the only thing that separated them was cloth. Mitsuru broke the kiss and gasped at the sudden friction, and Akihiko just grinned up at her. 

She smiled back at him, a little of that teasing light coming back into her eyes. Sex with Mitsuru was pretty much the same as working with her, really -- she liked it when he showed initiative and acted on his own, but ultimately, she wanted to be the one calling the shots. So it shouldn’t have been too surprising when she leaned back, resting her hands flat against his chest, and looked him dead in the eye as she ground down along his length. 

Akihiko dropped his head onto the back of the couch, groaning in a mix of pleasure and protest. Mitsuru skimmed her nails lightly down the column of his throat and lower, popping open the buttons of his shirt as she went. 

“It’s funny that you were admiring my hands, you know.” How the hell could she keep her voice so light? And rational? Akihiko was struggling to comprehend what she was saying -- the idea of stringing words into coherent sentences was pretty much beyond his capabilities at this point. 

“Oh?” 

“Mmm. I can’t think of how many times I’ve found myself looking at yours over the years.” 

She pulled his left hand off of her hip entirely, wrapping long pale fingers around it, thumbs brushing over the thick scar tissue that encased his knuckles. “It surprises me that you’ve retained so much manual dexterity after all this time.”

The fog had cleared out of his head enough that his addled brain recognized a familiar topic and seized it like a lifeline. “Oh, that’s because I tape them properly. That’s important to avoid fractures and sprains --”

Mitsuru closed her eyes and sighed in that way that she usually reserved for their kohai when they were being mind-bogglingly ridiculous, then opened them and smiled a little ruefully. “I wasn’t exactly looking for a lecture on the finer points of boxing safety, Akihiko.”

Then what--? Oh. Ohhhhh. Oh god.

Akihiko suddenly found himself wondering if couches were ever known to swallow people. Possessed demon couches, maybe? Were there Shadows that looked like couches? There were Shadows that looked like tables, after all, so why not a sofa? 

Suddenly the pressure lifted off of his lap, and Akihiko looked up to see Mitsuru straightening her clothes. Regret managed to pierce through the embarrassment, constricting his chest as he watched her pull a hand through her mass of red curls. 

“I think I’m headed to bed. Care to join me?” The invitation and the soft smile she threw over her shoulder made him hopeful that maybe he hadn’t screwed up entirely. Maybe she was just giving him some space to ‘get his shit together,’ as Shinji would say.

“I -- Yeah. I’ll be there in a minute.” 

Mitsuru nodded and walked out of the room, and Akihiko slumped into the couch, covering his face with one hand. Was he ever going to be not completely terrible at this, or what? 

There were really only two options when it came to failure, though: avoid the situation entirely, as he had done all the way up until Mitsuru had expressed an interest; or push through it, and use that failure as means and motivation to improve, as he had done with every other obstacle in his life. The first option wasn’t really one at all, so that only left the second.

He just had to stop thinking about it. Stop thinking about what he was doing, about how bad he was at it, about how embarrassing it was, and just trust himself. More importantly, trust Mitsuru. She was a good teacher, and he was a good student. Disappointing her wasn’t an option, either.

Akihiko shoved everything besides that determination down and away, pushing off the couch and making his way into Mitsuru’s bedroom. 

He had to stop in the doorway, catching himself against the frame. She had stripped off almost all of her clothing, the ivory expanse of her skin only broken by the black silk stockings that she was bending to remove. 

Mitsuru glanced back and caught his eye, then tipped her head slightly, as if to indicate that it was his move, and he should probably get on with it. Taking a deep breath, Akihiko strode across the room, looping an arm around her waist and pressing a kiss to the juncture of her neck and shoulder. She straightened, pressing her back against the bare skin of his chest, startling him, as he’d somehow managed to completely forget that she’d unbuttoned his shirt earlier. 

“Sorry about earlier,” he murmured into her shoulder. 

She tipped her head back and smiled at him. “Don’t worry about it.” 

The hand that wasn’t keeping her pulled back against his chest went wandering, fingers twining in her hair, ghosting along her shoulder, along the outside curve of her breast. The size of his hands, the gnarled knuckles and square blockiness of his fingers looked out of place against her skin, but she sighed and leaned back against him, eyes closed in pleasure.

When he was sure Mitsuru was sufficiently distracted, he turned and dropped down onto the bed, pulling her back into his lap. She choked on a decidedly un-elegant shriek and whipped her head around to glare at him, and he used the oppurtunity to send his hand drifting lower, until the pad of his thumb brushed over the nerve cluster that made her body go rigid against him.

It was easier to think about it that way, like it was a match -- there were weak spots to aim for, places that when hit just right would drop her defenses, keep her reeling as he dragged things on, racking up more points before he went for the knock-out.

Not a fight to the death, but more like a friendly competition. That, he thought he could handle.

A bite to the shoulder was rewarded with a shiver, the circling motion of his thumb drawing out a soft moan. He moved his middle finger lower still, sliding it against her opening, lingering until she let out a noise of pure frustration and bucked her hips, urging him inside.

This was the first time he had ever done anything to Mitsuru without it being reciprocated, the first time he had ever really explored her without his own need completely overriding his senses. It was still there, obviously, and growing more insistent with each shudder and sound and twitch of her body, but he was still enough in possession of his wits to realize that Mitsuru surrendering control like this, even being capable of letting herself go, was a big deal.

He crooked his middle finger inwards and stroked across a particular spot, and bit back a groan as she hissed and arched her back, one hand reaching around to clutch at the back of his head. The hand around her waist slid upwards to her breasts, and he dropped kisses that were half bite along the curve of her neck and shoulder, left hand working between her legs as her muscles grew more and more taunt, until he thought she might break with the tension.

Her free hand flew to her mouth, trapping the gasp that sounded suspiciously like his name, as her nails dug into the back of his neck and her entire body shuddered and then went boneless and still. It was all he could do not to lose himself then and there, with her muscles pulsing around his fingers.

Mitsuru relaxed her hand and drew it down along his neck, letting it come to rest in her lap on his own newly-freed hand. She snuggled back into his chest and smiled up at him, a certain measure of possessive pride in it. “See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

The first thing that popped into his head was innuendo, and pretty clearly not what she’d meant, but she must have seen it on his face, because she laughed and turned in his arms, shoving him down onto the bed and kissing him soundly. 

Maybe he didn’t have so far to go before he mastered this whole relationship business, after all.


End file.
